Through Another's Eyes
by docs pupil
Summary: Hindsight isn't always twenty/twenty. Even after it's all ended, the Sole Survivor sees only the shadows she fought so long to stave off.


The relief was almost tangible to Deacon's abundant perception. With the Institute gone, everyone in the whole Commonwealth is safe. Nobody in Sanctuary walks around with a sense of dread any longer, and all the soldiers of the Minutemen organization celebrate their victory. Everyone seems pleased with what happened to the place just a few hours ago, except for her. The linchpin of the finale.

He follows her up to the rooftop lookout of the Red Rocket station, silently scrutinizing her actions. She's sad, he could tell by her tired eyes. That child-like twinkle she gets when she's accomplished something is completely absent. Her gait is sluggish, and she's hunching slightly. And not the exhausted kind of hunching either.

The Sole Survivor gingerly seats herself on the refurbished couch, staring blankly off to the west, towards the setting sun.

He takes the empty cushion next to her after waiting at the door for what he takes as a respectable amount of time. "Looks like you need to talk about something. Want to?"

She plasters on her fake smile quickly. "I'm fine, Deacon. Just thinking."

"Now you're getting as bad as me. Next you'll be telling Piper 'no comment' instead of 'good morning'."

The young lady's smile widens in genuine amusement. "I'll only tell you if you really want to know."

"I only ask when I really don't know."

"Fair enough." She keeps her eye to the horizon, working up the nerve to admit to the world the truth about what happened mere hours ago. "The Institute took my baby, it turns out. They turned him into someone I didn't recognize, then I blew up their main base, along with my own son." The lady survivor turns to her cloak and dagger cohort, her sadness now apparent. "How's that for a confession?"

Surprised doesn't even begin to cover what he's feeling at the moment, but being as cool as a cucumber is what he's known for, and he isn't going to change that. The one with the shoulder always ready to cry on needs one herself right now. "I'll admit, it's better than anything I've told you so far, but I can always think of something."

The two lounge silently, the minutes ticking away between them.

Deciding now is as good a time as any, Deacon asks her to follow him.

She does so, down from the makeshift roof guard post, and across the bridge to the edge of her flourishing settlement.

"You see him over there?" He points toward her newly found son watching settlers harvesting their crops. "He needs you."

"I killed my baby, Deacon. I've killed people in general. I don't deserve any of this."

The self-proclaimed spy frowns, seeing her dilemma. The harbinger of a new age in a new Commonwealth is technically a murderer. Then again, if it wasn't for her and her allies guns, there would be no age to speak of. "Trust me when I say you shouldn't waste your time beating yourself up over things you had no choice but to let happen."

"What am I supposed to tell Shaun when he starts hearing stories? That I went around killing people to make the world a better place?!"

He saw first-hand when she hesitated to push the button on the self-righteous Institute. Her crisis of conscience is catching up to her, he knows that feeling all too well. Another shock to the system is what he decides she needs to snap her out of her melancholy.

"I wonder what MacCready would say if I told him he was a murderer?" The young woman follows his gaze to young Shaun talking with the aforementioned man. "And what _are_ you going to tell Shaun? Hey there, Sport, this is your new dad. He gets paid to kill people."

"I get your point," the lady snaps at him, giving him the stink eye.

"All I'm saying is that you may have lost one family to the Institute, don't let this one get away too." Even with sunglasses on, she can almost see the conviction in his face.

Deacon's unique brand of honesty may be a little bit irritating at times, but she could never stay mad at him. Her expression softens to a slightly grumpy frown. "I hate it when you're right."

"And I love it when you're wrong."

Her companion finally coaxes a smile out of her. She sighs. "Thanks Deacon."

"Don't mention it."


End file.
